Tag to Sex and Violence
by Shivased
Summary: A brief tag to Sex and Violence, cuz I needed a little more fluff after that.


Bobby gave the disgusting, hissing pile of goo that had been the siren a last look before turning back to the Winchesters. Both looked somewhat shell-shocked. Dean was leaning up against the wall, a pained look on his face as he clutched his shoulder and stared at the Siren's remains, while Sam was still lying on the door. Bobby was suddenly worried when he realized the younger man wasn't moving. "Sam, you ok?" he called as he stepped closer.

Hearing Bobby's call, Dean turned his attention to his younger brother. He spun around, ignoring how the room tilted lazily for a second and searched out his brother. He found Sam lying on the floor, his eyes scrunched tight and a look of pain on his face while he gasped painful, shallow breaths. Blood was leaking a slow path down his neck.

Suddenly terrified, Dean forgot his own pain and rushed to his brother, dropping onto the floor by Sam's side. "Sam? Sam, what's wrong?" he demanded, fear making his voice harsh. When Sam flinched away from him, he almost reeled back but forced himself to stay there. Sam was hurting, badly by the looks of it, and that trumped everything else.

He felt rather than saw Bobby kneel down on Sam's other side since all his attention was fixed on Sam's face. "Come on, Sam, please. Tell me what's wrong." He pleaded in a gentler voice, though it trembled slightly with fear.

Each pained gasp Sam made felt like a knife through Dean's chest because he had done this, he had hurt Sam. This time it wasn't the creature they were hunting, or stupid bad luck. It had been him. Whatever injuries Sam had, the sluggishly bleeding knife wound on his neck, were Dean's doing.

Dean's pleas were rewarded by a sliver of hazel as Sam forced his eyes open a little. He had to blink a couple of times to get Dean into focus, and almost closed them again when the room swam dizzily and the light made his head throb. "I'm ok. Just help me up." He muttered.

Dean shook his head. "No way, you are not alright, so don't lie to me Sam." He winced at the words, realizing too late it was probably the worst thing he could say. His fear was confirmed when Sam's eyes closed and the younger Winchester chuckled a mirthless laugh. The laugh promptly turned into a cough. Immediately Dean reached out and lifted Sam up to ease his coughing, wincing at the pained moans that Sam let out between coughs.

"Easy, Sam, take it easy." He soothed, rubbing gentle circles on Sam's back.

Sam slumped helplessly into Dean's shoulder when the coughing eased, the fit having taken too much energy out of him. He didn't even have enough to pull away from his brother, though he doubted Dean appreciated him sprawled over him. After all, Dean didn't know him anymore. He was no more than a monster to Dean.

That thought gave him strength and he pushed away. He would have kept going on a tumble back onto the floor if Bobby hadn't caught and steadied him with a hand on his back. Unfortunately that put pressure on his injuries and he gasped, jerking forward and arching away from Bobby. Dean caught him from the front, but by then the room was spinning so badly he couldn't keep up with it and black spots were dancing in his vision. Before he could stop them they filled his sight and dragged him under.

"What the hell, Bobby?" Dean asked, shocked, as Sam slumped unconscious into his arms. He'd seen the look on Sam's face as his brother jerked away from him – a mixture of anger, fear, worry and sadness.

Bobby just looked sadly back at him, still helping to support Sam, and suddenly Dean got it. Sam didn't want to be near him, he had said Sam was a monster, a liar, and he couldn't trust him. "Oh, God Sammy, I'm sorry." He murmured, letting his little brother rest fully on his shoulder again and burying his face in Sam's hair.

He was jolted back to reality by Bobby's voice. "This is sweet and all, but ya think we could get moving? Someone is going to come looking for the source of all the noise you two made, and we need to be gone before they find us."

Nodding, Dean eased Sam back and shuffled slightly until he had Sam in his arms. "Grab our stuff, will you?" he asked Bobby. Without waiting for an answer he stood and hoisted Sam up, working to somehow tuck Sam's head into the crook of his neck and ignoring the way his shoulder screamed in pain. His brother was heavy, he'd put on a good amount of muscle while Dean had been in the pit, but he'd also gotten thinner so really his weight hadn't changed. And it wasn't the first time Dean had had to haul his heavy ass around.

He staggered down the hall and outside to the Impala, somehow managing to open the car door without dropping Sam, and was just settling his brother into the back seat with a blanket over him when Bobby appeared, the weapons duffel and two clothes duffels in his arms.

"You ok to drive?" he asked Dean, nodding his head to the older Winchester's stabbed shoulder. He felt a little bad for that, but it was unavoidable.

"Yeah, I'm fine. You lead, I'll follow." Dean replied, straightening up and closing the back door, then moving around to slide into the front seat.

Bobby nodded and climbed into his truck, turned the key and led the way out of the hotel parking lot. He drove for a few hours, taking them out of the state to be on the safe side. Eventually he pulled into a hotel just inside the next state. It was a little nicer than they usually stayed at but the boys weren't paying. He didn't have disposable credit cards like they did but they were deep enough for this, and he figured they needed something with a few more amenities than usual. As soon as Sam could travel he'd haul them back to his place for a bit of rest.

After securing a room with two queen beds, he went back out to Dean. "Room twelve, on the end." He called, holding up the key. Dean nodded and they moved the vehicles over. Bobby went to open the doors and move their things into the room while Dean got Sam.

Slipping out of the car Dean hurried around to the back and opened the door, trying to keep his concern and fear in check. Sam hadn't so much as moaned in the three hours they'd driven for. He remained still and pale, his breaths coming short and pained, curled up under the blanket the way Dean had arranged him. Bending down, Dean grasped Sam under the arms and pulled him gently out, noting the way his unconscious brother's breath hitched painfully at the pulling. Once Sam was out, Dean lifted him into his arms again and carried him into their room, depositing him gently onto the bed furthest from the door.

Bobby followed him in a minute later, dumping the four duffle bags he was managing to carry on the bed and leaving, then returning again with the Winchester's first aid kit and his own. "How's Sam?" he asked Dean.

"Still out of it." Dean replied shortly, though not unkindly. He was too worried about his brother to give a longer answer. While Bobby had brought the supplies in he'd started stripping Sam, easing him out of his coat and over shirt, then his jeans and shoes. He'd immediately noticed Sam's swollen knee and cursed, remembering exactly when it'd happened during their fight.

Moving to Sam's t-shirt he manoeuvred his brother out of it and felt himself pale at the sight that greeted him. The left side of Sam's torso, from his shoulder to down into his boxers was covered with bruises that were already darkening to black and purple. Dean remembered Sam's reaction to Bobby touching his back and lifted him up to look, cursing again. His little brother's back was even worse, especially around his kidneys where it looked, from the shape of the bruising, like he'd connected with the doorknob of the door they'd smashed through.

A whistle and a curse made Dean lift his head to meet Bobby's gaze. "God, Bobby, what did I do?" he asked, his voice breaking. He wrapped his arms protectively around Sam.

Bobby gently pried Sam away and laid him down again before taking Dean's shoulders and giving him a shake. "Listen to me boy, you didn't do nothin', you hear? It was that Siren that did it, not you. You couldn't help yourself."

Moving away from Bobby, Dean shook his head. "I did it Bobby, and I meant it. God, I meant everything I said." It wasn't true, not fully at least. He didn't think Sam was a monster but he did think Sam had changed, and not for the better either. That wasn't the point, though. He'd tried to kill his brother, would have killed him if it weren't for Bobby.

"Let's just focus on your brother, how 'bout that?" Bobby said awkwardly, shaking Dean out of his self loathing. The older man tugged the first aid kit over so it sat on the floor beside Dean and stood up, going to the bathroom, returning a minute later with the waste basket, a glass of water, towels and a wet wash cloth. Grabbing the ice bucket next he headed out of the room to get some ice they would definitely need.

Nodding, Dean turned his attention to Sam, concentrating first on the cut on his brother's neck. It wasn't deep or long, but it was in a spot that would be painful for a while whenever Sam moved and had bled a lot. Taking the washcloth Bobby set beside him before leaving to get ice he gently cleaned the area, wincing in sympathy when Sam's brow wrinkled at the pain it caused. When the blood was cleaned away he wet a piece of gauze with peroxide and cleaned it thoroughly before closing the cut with butterfly bandages and taping a bandage over it.

Next he moved on to Sam's head, concerned that his brother was still out cold and that he'd hit the door pretty hard – hard enough to knock it down. A bit of gentle probing revealed a golf ball sized lump on the back of Sam's head, sticky with half dried blood. Dean picked up the cloth again and, easing Sam over to lie on his side, cleaned the cut. It was deep enough that he also added a couple stitches after cutting Sam's hair away around it, then ruffled his brother's hair over it, satisfied that the small bit he'd had to cut away wouldn't be noticed. He knew Sam had a concussion, that was a given, but he took out his flashlight and, pulling back Sam's eyelids one at a time, flicked the light over them. Both reacted slowly, sluggishly, like he'd suspected. Definitely a good concussion.

While Sam was on his side Dean took the opportunity to bathe his back with a second wet cloth Bobby had brought, feeling around as he worked to make sure nothing serious was going on. He couldn't feel anything besides the heat of the bruises, thankfully. Repeating the process on Sam's front, though he kept the younger man on his side in deference to his badly bruised back, Dean grimaced at the give on Sam's right side, feeling at least two broken ribs. "Damn, Sammy, I'm sorry," he whispered as he reached for bandages and deftly wrapped Sam's chest.

By the time Bobby was back with the ice Dean had Sam propped on his side, with pillows against his chest and back to keep him stable without putting too much pressure on his bruised back or broken ribs. He was probing Sam's knee when the door opened, a frown on his face.

"How's he doing?" Bobby asked, setting the bucket of ice and the bag of supplies he'd decided to go get on the table. Grabbing some of the supplies out of the bag and the ice bucket, he brought it all to the bed and set it on the nightstand before picking up a towel and filling it with ice.

"He's got a pretty good concussion, a couple broken ribs, and some pretty bad bruising on his back," Dean replied, working to keep his voice even. "I put five stitches in the back of his head, and it looks like his knee is sprained." Sam's knee was grossly swollen but Dean couldn't feel anything that would suggest damage that would mean they needed a hospital.

Pulling an ace bandage out of the first aid kit, he wrapped Sam's knee snugly and took the ice that Bobby handed him, placing it on the swollen limb before pulling the covers up and settling them around Sam's shoulders. Finally, satisfied he had done all he could, he pulled a chair up beside the bed and settled himself in to wait.

Four hours later Dean was pulled from a light doze, his head snapping up. It was a minute before he realized the thing that had woken him was a pained moan from the bed. Blinking his eyes fell on Sam, whose face was scrunched in pain. The younger Winchester was shifting restlessly, moaning in pain with each movement.

"Sam, it's ok. Hey, Sammy, wake up." Dean called quietly, resting a hand on his brother's forehead. He frowned at the heat he could feel radiating off Sam's skin. Flicking on the lamp on the nightstand he blinked to let his eyes adjust then looked at his brother. Sam's skin was flushed and pale except for two fevered spots high on his cheeks. "Damn," he hissed.

Getting to his feet he grabbed the bucket of ice and a cloth, which he dipped into the half melted ice, wrung out, and used to wipe Sam's face and neck down with.

"Sam ok?" Bobby's sleep gravelled voice piped up from the other bed.

"He's got a fever, hand me the thermometer, will you?" Dean asked, not turning away from his brother. A moment later the thermometer appeared in his line of vision. Grasping it he turned it on and slid it into Sam's ear, pulling it out again when the beep signalled it was done. "102.4," he read with a frown. Not as bad as it could be, but still pretty high.

"I'll get some fresh ice, we need to cool him down," Bobby replied, grabbing the ice bucket after Dean wet the cloth again.

Dean didn't even hear him leave, his attention fixed solely on Sam. "Sammy, wake up bro, come on, open your eyes,' he coaxed when Sam moaned again, his breath hitching in pain. A minute later Sam's eyes cracked open, showing a sliver of hazel.

"D'nnn?" he whispered.

"Yeah, Sammy, I'm here. Its ok, just rest. You've got a bit of a fever." Dean carded a hand through Sam's hair watching as Sam blinked slowly and stared at him for a minute before nodding slightly and closing his eyes, his breathing evening out slightly as he slipped back into a restless, fevered sleep.

Sam's fever continued to climb until it reached 104.3, where it hovered for almost three days. Bobby and Dean spent the time trying to coax him to swallow pills dissolved in water and wiping him down with cold water but nothing was helping. Sam didn't swallow enough of the medicine to help, and he was getting dehydrated.

"Damnit Bobby!" Dean cried on the third day when the Tylenol laced water he was trying to get Sam to swallow just dribbled out of Sam's mouth and down his chin to soak the collar of the t-shirt he wore. "We can't keep this up. It's been two and a half days. Are you sure there wasn't something in the Siren's venom?"

Bobby handed the younger man a towel and shook his head. "Nothin' that'd cause this. It just makes ya throw up a bit, like you did yesterday." He replied, shaking his head. "He just needs time, he took a good beating, and you both have been working hard lately. He's hurt and tired." He paused, giving Dean a calculated look. The older Winchester wouldn't like what he was going to say. "If his fever ain't down by tomorrow though, he should go to a hospital. He's risking brain damage."

Dean nodded, pushing down his dislike of hospitals and ignoring the danger that came with them. They'd figure out an explanation for Sam's injuries if they had to, they always did when one of them needed a hospital. "Yeah, ok. If he isn't better by nine tomorrow, we'll take him to the hospital."

Dean was sound asleep on the bed beside Sam, one hand resting on his brother's raggedly rising and falling chest when the fever finally broke, two hours from the time they'd agreed to take him to the hospital.

Sam's breath hitched and he jerked, the movement waking Dean instantly. "Sam?" he called, sitting up and staring at his brother, worried he was having a nightmare again. Taking in the sweat beading Sam's brow and his sweat-soaked hair, he let out a bark of relieved laughter, shocking Bobby who was coming in from making a supply run.

"His fever broke," Dean explained with a relieved grin, running a hand over Sam's much cooler cheek. Getting up and moving to the bathroom he returned with a wet cloth which he used to wipe Sam's face and chest down, washing away the sweat.

"Good." Bobby replied. Setting everything on the table he moved to the bed and laid his own hand on Sam's forehead, nodding with relief. "Looks like a hospital is out, for now." He added, straightening up and giving Dean a smile as he went back to the bags he'd been carrying. Shuffling through them he pulled a bottle of coke out and handed it to Dean.

"Yeah," Dean replied, taking the pop and setting it on the nightstand. He yawned, then laid back down, too exhausted from his hours of sitting vigil while Sam burned with fever to stay awake. "I'm gonna grab some more sleep, wake me up in a couple hours."

Sam frowned, or thought he frowned. He wasn't sure why but he was so tired, and his limbs felt like they were made of lead. The rest of him ached, especially his head, back and knee. Shifting his breath hitched when a stab of pain went through his back, moaning softly.

At his moan warm hands touched him, one brushing his cheek then forehead before running through his hair and the other grasping his hand and squeezing gently.

"Sammy? Open your eyes, bro; it's time to wake up." Dean's called softly, unable to keep the worry out of his voice as he stroked his brother's hair and squeezed his hand. Sam's eyes moved under his lids and his face scrunched up, sure signs that he was waking. "You've slept long enough, come on, open your eyes."

Dean's tone, and his comment about having slept long enough, got Sam curious enough to blink his eyes open. His first attempt sent jolts of pain shooting through his brain. 'Gnnnhhh" he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut again.

"Sorry, here, try again, the light is off." Dean soothed, cringing in sympathy. Getting up he flicked the overhead light off and the beside lamp on, bathing the room in much softer light.

Doing as he was told and trying again, Sam opened his eyes. Everything was blurry but blinking a few times brought the room into focus and he saw Dean smiling down at him.

"Hey, about time Sleeping Beauty."

"What?" Sam asked, the word coming out as a croaked whisper. "Thirsty," he added.

Dean nodded and slipped a hand under Sam's head, lifting him slightly and tipping a cup to his lips. Sam drank greedily until Dean pulled the cup back before his brother could drink too much and make himself sick.

"Thirsty," he whispered, licking his parched lips and watching as Dean set the cup down on the nightstand.

"You can have a bit later, you'll throw up if you have too much right now," Dean replied gently. "You're dehydrated so you have to take it easy."

What in the world? How long had he been out? Sam blinked in confusion. He was dehydrated, sore and his body felt leaden, refusing to move when he told it to, so he'd definitely been out of it. The question was why, and for how long. "What happened?" he asked after a minute, pleased to find his voice was stronger, though it still sounded, and felt, like he had gravel in his throat.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Dean asked, a guarded look passing over his face. He didn't want to rehash everything they'd said to each other. He meant what he'd said, or at least part of it, and he was sure Sam was the same. So he wasn't eager to hear everything his brother had said again.

"The siren?" Sam asked, frowning. He remembered all that a little too well. Dean holding a knife on him, the things they'd said to each other and the fight afterwards. He honestly didn't want to linger on that mess, at least not yet. Once he could think straight he'd make sure Dean knew he didn't mean what he'd said, but for now he just wanted to forget it all.

But that was all he remembered. Dean had slammed him right through a door and was about to put an axe through his head. Everything after that was a blank. "Was there a hunt after that?"

"No," Dean replied quietly. "You got beat up – I beat you up – pretty bad." His voice hitched and he took a breath before continuing. "You passed out after Bobby killed the siren. We brought you back here and you've been out of it for four days. You had a fever of 104 for three of them. You're bruised up and have a bad concussion, and your knee is twisted." He kept his eyes down, not wanting to see the hurt and contempt on his brother's face.

Sam just blinked in surprise. He'd been out of it for four days? That would explain the lethargic feeling and the exhaustion. He was ready to go back to sleep already. "Bobby's here?" he asked, trying to think of something to say. Dean hadn't looked at him through the entire explanation. He didn't really expect his brother to, not after the things he'd said to Dean.

"He was," Dean confirmed. "He left a few hours ago; a friend had an emergency with a poltergeist."

Nodding, Sam glanced over to the water again. "Thirsty?"

"Just a bit more for now," Dean answered. Reaching out, he lifted Sam's head up and helped his brother drink a few more small sips of water, pulling the cup back when Sam grimaced. "Told you, you'll make yourself sick drinking too much."

Letting Dean settle his head back Sam groaned, trying to ignore the roiling of his stomach and swallowing convulsively in an effort to keep the liquid down. He hated being dehydrated; the urge to gulp water was hard to resist, but it always resulted in throwing up. It was even worse with a concussion since anything in his stomach was usually rejected, dehydration or not. "Dean," he groaned, realizing he was going to lose the fight.

Dean knew the signs and before Sam had even moaned his name he had the garbage can ready. Easing Sam over he rubbed his brother's back sympathetically and held him over the pail, one hand on his head to keep him steady, while Sam heaved the water he'd swallowed back out. Sam emitted pained moans between heaves as his battered body protested the action. "Shhh, just let it out, I gotcha, its ok," Dean crooned.

"God, that sucks," Sam moaned when he was done and Dean had eased him back onto the bed, giving him a few small sips of water to rid his mouth of the taste of vomit. Closing his eyes he concentrated on stopping the room from spinning before blinking them slowly back open. Everything hurt again.

"Here, take these, they'll help." Dean held out two white pills and a refilled glass of water.

Opening his mouth because his arms were too heavy to lift, Sam let Dean set the pills on his tongue, swallowing them with another small sip of water. When his stomach didn't protest he relaxed back into the pillows under his head. "Thanks," he whispered. His eyes closed and he let himself drift off into sleep.

"Just rest, I'll be here when you wake up," Dean whispered, pulling the blanket up to Sam's chin and brushing his brother's bangs away from his face. Setting the water glass down he leaned back in his chair, watching Sam as he slept.

When Sam woke next the room was lit by sunlight filtering in through the curtains, suggesting he'd been asleep for a while. It had been night the last time he'd woken up. A rustling nearby told him Dean was there, and a minute later the mattress sagged as he sat on the bed.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" Dean asked gently, lifting Sam's head and helping him drink a few small sips of water.

"Ok I guess." Sam replied. He was careful with the water, not wanting a repeat of the throwing up he'd done the last time. "Tired."

"Stay awake for me for a few minutes, ok? I want to check your injuries." Getting up Dean pulled the first aid kit over and quickly changed the bandage on Sam's neck, checked his back and side, and re-wrapped his ribs.

By the time Dean was done, Sam was nodding off again, blinking slowly and finding it harder every time to open his eyes again. He wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep.

"Just a few more minutes, Sam. You need to drink some Gatorade and take some pills; you've still got a bit of a fever."

Nodding, Sam let Dean help him lift his head and drank the red Gatorade that was held to his lips, grimacing at the taste. Neither of them particularly liked the energy drink but they both knew it would help rehydrate them. He took the pain pills and Tylenol Dean slipped into his mouth as well.

"Done?" he asked hopefully when the Gatorade was gone and Dean lowered his head back to the pillows.

"Yeah, that's it." Dean replied, pushing Sam's bangs out of his face and smiling. "Go back to sleep, Sammy."

Sam slept on and off for the next two days, waking up long enough to drink the water and Gatorade or take the pills Dean plied him with. And each time he woke Dean was there, helping him to the bathroom or holding him over the garbage can when the concussion made him heave his guts up. A few times he tried to talk to Dean, but every time his brother brushed him off, telling him to go back to sleep and rest.

Eventually he woke to find the room dark, lit by the beside lamp. Rolling his head around he was pleased to find that the room didn't spin sickeningly and his stomach didn't clench with nausea. Encouraged he eased himself up on slightly rubbery arms and leaned back against the headboard, hissing when his bruises were pressed.

"Sam?" Dean called, hearing the hiss and rustle of bedding and moving out of the bathroom in a billow of steam, towelling his hair dry. Seeing his brother up he frowned and dropped the towel, hurrying forward to help Sam sit up. "You shouldn't be up. You need to rest. Lay back down on your side."

Grimacing Sam shook his head, moving to swing his legs over the side of the bed. "I need the bathroom, and I want a shower." The room spun a little but he gripped the bedspread tightly until the sensation passed.

"I'll help you to the bathroom but then you're going back to bed Sam. No shower, you can barely stand up on your own, never mind taking a shower." Gripping Sam's shoulders Dean made sure his brother was steady before helping him to his feet and holding him as they shuffled slowly across the room to the bathroom.

At the door Sam shrugged off Dean's hand on his arm. "I've been lying in bed for almost a week Dean. I stink and I'm having a shower."

"Fine, but if you fall don't expect me to come in and save your naked ass." Dean replied. Leaving Sam to take care of business he dug clean clothes out of his brother's bag and took them back to the bathroom. The water was running so he slipped in and set them on the counter, knowing Sam would want them. "Don't be too long." He called as he left, leaving the door open a crack. Despite his words he was listening carefully to make sure Sam was alright, ready to rush in if his brother fell.

Ten minutes later Sam emerged, much as Dean had, in a cloud of steam rubbing his hair dry with a towel. Immediately Dean was at his elbow, supporting him back to the bed and easing him down to lay on his side. Sam wanted to protest the coddling but he hadn't been sure he could make it across the room on his own, and lying down again really sounded good.

"Feel better?" Dean asked, helping Sam take some more pain pills and running a hand over his forehead, relieved when he only felt the lingering warmth of shower heated skin.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Sam replied, and then cleared his throat, noting how Dean still wasn't making eye contact with him. He hadn't been since Sam had woken up from his fever. "Dean, listen...." he began, then stopped. He had no idea what to say to his brother. "Dean...you know I didn't mean anything I said, right? I mean, with the Siren?"

Dean snorted, and then shook his head. For a minute Sam thought he'd get brushed off again, told to rest as Dean avoided talking about what they both knew needed to be talked about, but with a heavy sigh he eventually looked up, making eye contact for the first time in days. The pain and anger Sam saw took him by surprise.

"You didn't? 'Cause I did Sammy, so don't tell me you didn't mean it." He sat down on the bed near Sam's knees, suddenly looking deflated and tired. "That's wrong. I didn't mean it, not all of it Sam. You've changed; you run around with a demon, you lie to me, you try to hide what you do. The angels told me to stop you Sam, or they would. God doesn't want you doing it. We're supposed to be a team, us against them. But lately it's like we work separately, we're not a team anymore. If I'm holding you back just say so. I won't hold you back anymore. If you want me gone, I'll go; I'll leave you to whatever it is you want to do."

Sam was speechless for a minute, and then snapped himself out of the shock. "Dean, no. I don't want you to leave." When Dean just snorted he struggled up to a sitting position, ignoring the protests in his ribs and back. The room spun but he ignored that too. Taking a deep breath, he looked at Dean with all the earnestness he could muster. "But you have to understand, you were in Hell. You were gone and I didn't know how to survive. I woke up every morning and went through the motions of living, but I didn't want to live. Without you I didn't have a reason to be alive. Ruby kept me alive; she gave me a way to fight, a way to get through each day." Tears welled up in his eyes and spilled over. "What I do Dean, it saves people. A demon gave me these powers, but if I can use them to save people I'm going to. I can take this terrible...curse....and turn it into something good. Maybe then it'll be worth it."

Dean didn't know what to say to what Sam had just revealed. Opening his mouth he shut it again and just shrugged. "Ok, Sammy I can't pretend I'll like it, but I'm not going to stop you. Just don't lie to me about it, ok?" He said finally.

Nodding, Sam cleared his throat. "And Dean, I really didn't mean it, any of it. You're not weak, you aren't holding me back." He paused, clearing his throat. "Well you are holding me back but –"he held up a hand when Dean opened his mouth, face crumpling. "But not because you're weak, or scared. Because I'm scared, Dean."

"What?" Dean's expression changed from pain and betrayal to shock and confusion.

Tears were spilling down Sam's face now, but he made no move to stop them. He needed Dean to see them. "I'm afraid of losing you Dean. I can't, not again. I can't watch the hell hounds rip you to pieces again. I won't do it; I can't. I'll do anything to keep that from happening again even if I have to sneak around with Ruby." Sam looked down at the bedspread, fingering a hole in the ugly yellow fabric as his shoulders started shaking and memories of Dean being ripped apart while he couldn't do anything to help flashed through his mind. "And I'm sorry for ridiculing you. You don't whine, you're not weak. You aren't. You're the strongest, bravest, best hunter I know."

Shocked, Dean's mind took a minute to process what his little brother was saying. When it finally registered, he breathed a sigh. "Sammy..." Reaching out, he pulled his brother's shaking form into his arms, rubbing gentle circles on his back careful of the bruises, and let him cry. "Shhh, it's ok." When Sam finally calmed down and pulled back, brushing his hands across his face, Dean sighed again.

"I am scared, Sammy, I won't lie to you. What I did, what they did to me in Hell, there's a reason I can't talk about it. There aren't words to describe it." He said, remembering using the same words once before. "I'm trying, I really am, but I need time. I can't just walk away from it; I need you to give me time, ok?"

Sam nodded, giving his brother a watery smile. "Ok." He said finally, then added hesitantly, "we good?"

Dean nodded as well. "Yeah, Sammy, we're good."

"Good, that's good." Sam replied. Suddenly he was exhausted, and his back was making it clear that it wasn't happy about him sitting up. Sagging back he nodded sleepily again. "Good."

"Go to sleep Sammy." Seeing that Sam was about to pass out, Dean eased his brother gently onto his side and propped him up with pillows before tucking the blankets snugly around him. "I got you," he murmured, brushing a hand through his little brother's hair. "We're good."

Or they would be, he thought with a smile. They had issues still, and there was an apocalypse to stop, but they'd be ok. They were Winchesters.


End file.
